Ralph Nader's endorsement of the Edwards campaign yesterday hit me like a kick to the groin. Forty years ago, back in 1968, I invoked the name Ralph Nader in my first, and only, overt challenge to my Southern New Dealer Dixiecrat father, and it marked my coming of age both intellectually and emotionally. As I recall the incident today, my father was in full fury about the manner in which the party was being hijacked by hippies and commies and eggheads, and I had the effrontery to say, almost as an obfuscation, that maybe someday Ralph Nader would make a good President. When my father countered that Ralph Nader was a troublemaker who had cost many working men their jobs in his crusade against the Corvair, I felt compelled to counter each and every one of my father's ill-informed and emotional assertions with my irrefutable and devastating collegiate logic. And, though I could not outshout the old man, I left the room feeling vindicated by my boldness and proud for my grace under pressure.
But today, as I relived this milestone, I realized exactly what the incident had cost me, and how the price of my righteous indignation was amortized over decades of estrangements, secured with the collateral of disillusionment. And I found myself wishing I could refinance with a more equitable rate.
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